


The buttercup of Nilfgaard

by so_damn_Mishalicious



Series: Witchery AU goodness [5]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Bisexual Jaskier | Dandelion, Brutal Murder, Butcher Geralt, Cruelty, Emperor Jaskier, Execution, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Friendship, Lawful evil Jaskier, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nilfgaard, No Homophobia, Racism, Royal advisor Yennefer, Violence, Yennefer was not altered, no beta we die like witchers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:55:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23651185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/so_damn_Mishalicious/pseuds/so_damn_Mishalicious
Summary: Jaskier is born into a family of musicians in the Nilfgaardian empire. Poverty, starvation and fear are constant companions in daily life.Losing his family and suffering under the Usurpers reign, he vows to change his Destiny and give the Empire the ruler it deserves.(feat. Emperor of Nilfgaard Jaskier, Butcher Geralt and Royal advisor Yennefer)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Witchery AU goodness [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686538
Comments: 123
Kudos: 540
Collections: The Witcher Alternate Universes





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay guys I'll be honest: I know shit about Nilfgaard, didn't read the books or played the games. The witcher wiki didn't give me much so I whipped something up to go with. Please bear with my nonsense, this was a spontaneous idea again
> 
> Please mind my usual warning: strange grammar and errors originate from English not being my first language and my own sloppiness (duh). I know shit about geography, economy and flora of places so I will probably make and mix up some of this stuff. This is not beta read and I own absolutely nothing - not the characters, the setting nor anything related to them.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated and brighten the writer's day ♥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys I'll be honest: I know shit about Nilfgaard, didn't read the books or played the games. The witcher wiki didn't give me much so I whipped something up to go with. Please bear with my nonsense, this was a spontaneous idea again
> 
> Please mind my usual warning: strange grammar and errors originate from English not being my first language and my own sloppiness (duh). I know shit about geography, economy and flora of places so I will probably make and mix up some of this stuff. This is not beta read and I own absolutely nothing - not the characters, the setting nor anything related to them.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated and brighten the writer's day ♥

The only life he knows, is a hard one.

He's born into a family of musicians, not exactly poor but always struggling to get by. They live from performance to performance, trying to budget their hard earned coin not to starve too often. Some days they eat, others they don't. Normal people not born into ranks barely get by these days. Julian knows from a young age - this is not the life he wants. He loves music, he really does. It's just not enough to keep him safe to survive another day. He dreams of what else he could be.

+++

Nilfgaard has been a flourishing kingdom once. Magnificent and rich, respected by his allies. Known for his art, admired for their traditions and advanced juristic system. They prided themselves with their achievements, resting on what their predecessors had forged for them out of their Elven ancestors legacy. Never would they hide of whom they descended from. It was a blessing and a privilege not a curse.

Over the course of the last five decades all this began to crumble, piece by piece chipped away, leaving just a hollow skeleton of past glory behind. Other countries emerged, stronger, faster. Hungry for more, stripping away parts of their lands. Those hated the elves that had taught them so much about the world once theirs and its magic inside and made no difference for their kin, resulting in losing fights diminishing their troups. Mismanagement left their soil barren and people starving. Greed and corruption crippled their economy. This weakness peaked in the overthrow of their rightful king, staged by the Usurper. He had been an aristocrat, wanting more than life was willing to give him. So he attacked the ruler at night, co-conspirators right at his side and slaughtered anyone of royal blood, leaving not a single member of the original emperor's line alive. Nobility was quickly appeaced with gifts of land and fortune, with promises for better times to come. 

They didn't.

Gruesome punishments and executions of anyone voicing a critical opinion or committing even minor crimes became daily occurrences. Taxes were raised to fund the wealth of the upper class, void for their effect on the civilians. Famines made people starve in the streets. Fear was a constant companion, no matter where you went or looked. Failure was seen as a weakness. The weak got purged. It resulted in slavery, torture or death.

Jaskier remembers seeing his parents hanging on the gallows, his eyes filled with tears. They tried to steal a loaf of bread after going without food for almost three days. The hunger and worry for their child made them desperate. Now cold, empty eyes made the boy shiver. Fear tainted the air - fear of being next. He ran away without another word, not able to look back once more, the lute in his hands the only thing they left behind.

The tears he shed that day would be his last, he vowed.

Julian died that day with his family. Gone for good, no trace left behind. The boy's name is Jaskier now and Jaskier is a clever guy.

He has his eyes set on a goal. Nothing but death can stop him to achieve it.

+++

Jaskier is not only clever. He's also good with words. He forms them into weapons, into sweet traps, luring those listening in and not letting go. He charms his way into the court. And into beds. He's beautiful and easy on the eyes though he's young and uses it to his advantage. He sings and dances, composes and flatters, conquers hearts and fucks pliant bodies. Jaskier is all happy smiles and lovely words, the promise of enjoyment poured into a person. Soon he's a permanent asset in the noble lines, loved and hated, admired and envied. The humble bard with his flowery words and his wordsmithing tongue.

All that makes him smile. It's nearly a tad too easy.

Jaskier plays for the Emperor on varying occasions. The man is cruel to the core with a flaring temper, chasing sensations like air to breath. On good days he's showered with appreciation, nearly close enough to touch their ruler, who is sitting on his besotted throne like the impetuous shit he is. On bad ones he gets dragged away - for his voice not being pleasant to the Emperor's ears or his lyrics not striking the needed fashion. 20 hits with a whip he has to endure, every time but they make sure not to break his skin. That could keep him from performing like the little puppet he is.

The Usurper cares not if people hurt. Or starve. Or die. He cares for nobody but himself.

Every angry welt burning under his doublet when he sings and twirls is a reminder of why he is here.

+++

Three years pass.

The Usurper is a paranoid man, heavily guarded, rarely letting anyone close. Jaskier plays the obedient play thing, the loyal follower. A naive adolescent adoring a god, serving him and his whims. He is taken to bed many times, putting on a show for the man above him. Bowing to him, kneeling for hours, surrendering to his strength. The bards waits patiently through beatings and hard fucks, through choking from hands and his cock, always moaning, begging for more. He doesn't beg for mercy. Never will. The bastard doesn't deserve that pleasure.

One fateful day he's allowed to stay after their tangles in the sheets, while they are 'basking in the afterglow'. A smile is tugging on his lips. Ignoring the loud snores next to him, he turns around, stifling a little giggle. He's almost there. Just a little more.

It takes a lot out of him, not to give in just yet.

+++

Walking the court and performing for royals, warming their beds and hearts ensues talking. Listening to rumors. Harvesting secrets.

Often enough intrigues and scandals are set up to dispose of an unwanted rival in these ranks. Reputations are defiled, marriages ruined. The bard stays close enough for juicy intell but out of their ways of target. Angry parents, jealous spouses and blood-thirsty siblings keep him occupied more than enough.

Still he has many benefactors, people willing to give him anything. Favours of lovers in important positions he can call in. All of this will be needed soon enough.

He also stays on good terms with the Great Sun cult. Even stripped of their power their priests are firm believers and fanning the flames for their hope of them ascending again, might prove useful.

Selling out traitors or those turning too dangerous is ugly but necessary. It's often not more than a whisper here, a thoughtful remark dropped there. They disappear not to be seen again. The Usurper sends him to spy on purpose often enough. Surveillance is a way to keep people from talking, from wanting too much.

Jaskier is a clever spy, involved everywhere, never suspected. All cards are in his hands, ready to be dealt.

It's time.

+++

It's not poison.

It's a knife ending the life of the Usurper. Placed under a mountain of pillows, hidden from sight, it's in his hand once he lies on his back to get mounted by the monster. It's dark in the chamber, no light besides some rays of moonlight tumbling through the drapes. The man doesn't see it coming. That's good, he doesn't deserve that.

There are no guards stationed outside. The ruler sent them away, keen on not having any witnesses around for his plans tonight.

A clean cut over his throat makes him choke on his own blood. It falls on Jaskier's body, still warm, red droplets catching on his skin. He's quick to drag the man down, smothers the gaping mouth with one hand. His other keeps the man's head in place with a violent grip.

"Hush… it's over soon."

The struggles against his hold grow weaker. Life leaves the other's body, not without him suffering. That's good. The bastard is supposed to suffer for all he has done.

Before the last specks of light leave the man's eyes, he flashes him a smile as he lets go, the limp body falling next to him on the mattress. He sits up instead, takes the blade and slams it into the broad rib cage before him, hopefully hitting the heart. Gurgly, wet breaths stop right after, the heaving chest stilling for good. Jaskier leans back now, silent for once.

Then he laughs. Laughs until he can't breathe no more. It's done. The Usurper is gone.

Now it's time for the next step to take.

+++

He calls in the nobles and spiritual leaders the very same night. His clothes are still soaked with blood as he enters the room, everyone falling silent in shock. He sits on the chair destined for their ruler, without hesitation or remorse.

The Emperor is dead. Long live the Emperor.

Offense was an expected reaction. The lords and ladies of the court are furios of a commoner assuming the throne. He's not one of theirs though he has walked their middle long enough. Knows all their secrets and ugly things they wish to hide. In the end the majority is willing to support him though - he seized the throne just like the one before him, no rightful heir left to ascend instead. They wish to keep him in check that way, plan to use him as a puppet that's strings they can pull. Dispose of him, should he act out of line. They're naive to think he's unaware of their intentions towards him but keeps it that way. For now. The awakening will be bitter enough.

The cult, on the other side, is overjoyed. They claim to have seen his arrival in their dreams for a long time, a bright light coming to free them of their chains, calling him 'Deithwen Addan yn Carn aep Morvudd' - The White Flame Dancing on the Barrows of his Enemies. Jaskier never heard of him being part of a prophecy before but takes it. Fated saviours are welcomed more openly. People love that kind of stories.

They sit for many hours before calling it a night. The corpse of the former ruler gets discreetly disposed. Many things will have to change, radically, to keep this empire from collapsing. Jaskier retreats to his old rooms for once more. He will be moved into the Emperor's chambers soon enough. A soft sigh tumbles from his lips as his head sinks into the pillow.

It's been a long day. Many more are sure to come.

+++

The first decree that's passed puts an end to slavery, freeing his people. Then he takes land from those having more than they need and bestows it to other having nothing. He pardons those prosecuted by old law but those still endangering his reforms and reinstalls the old juridical system. The cult of Great Sun is established into its previous place of main religion again. The Emperor revises their system of finance next - lowering taxes to ease normal life and invests into their economy instead. Banks now lend credits to smaller merchants or farmers to buy tools and seed they direly need to grow crops. The aristocracy is furious, outraged to suffer from the cuts of his laws. He holds them at bay, aided by the cult and tells them to be patient. Jaskier assures them, it will be worth it. After years of drought follow those of harvest.

The reforms work and the empire recovers step by step. Surrounding himself with scholars and versed experts of different fields, they set secure a constant stream of nourishment into every corner of the country. Fertile soils are treasured and used with measure, not exploited to run thin soon. Roads are fixed or built to set up trading routes his people can use. He also reorganizes the leftover armed forces - equipping them with new gears and weapons, enhancing their skills with periodic training. He can't spare a single on of them, so they make sure to stay with clever surprise attacks for now, claiming back new pieces of lands surrounding their borders without bigger political importance that had once been theirs. They're important for the needed expansion and those people living their are spared as much collateral damage as possible and granted the same rights his people have.

Jaskier is also still a bard, deep down inside his heart. He enjoys the fine arts and patronages them as well. A good portion of taxes earned flows into schools, university, theaters and other places of knowledge and art. They recruit scholars from abroad to teach in their facilities, as well as healers, men and women of craft and other members of valuable guilds. Many of them are elves, hunted or exiled in their once homes. Nilfgaard has always been proud of its Elven heritage and there are no plans to change that any time soon. These individuals are now looked after and cared for, finally free to enjoy a peaceful life. 

Their cities grow, proper settlements for everyone to live set up in record time. Armoured forces secure safety in the streets, those in that position carefully chosen not to exploit it. The emperor also looks out for his poorest and redirects leftover food to be given away for free to those without coin and arranging places for them to stay until they're back on their feet.

The public welcomes him with open arms, craving a just ruler for decades. Jaskier will give them all that and more. He doesn't hide himself inside his palace but seeks out their proximity whenever he can. Sometimes he even downs one of his old outfits and plays for an audience in the street, though his personal guard begs him not to just disappear out of sight without them. The brunette laughs, comforting them with trained words but no intent not to return. There's nothing he wouldn't do for his people. He's still one of them.

+++

His successful reign doesn't go unnoticed by other countries. Many are interested in striking up alliances and treaties of trade. Nilfgaard is in possession of a vast amount of rare minerals, ores and other natural resources. He picks only a few, those willing to negotiate without the intent to exploit and keeps the rest for smaller arrangements until proven worthy of their trust.

Also the council of mages approaches his court, offering him one of theirs as a royal advisor. Jaskier knows the Emperor before him and the Usurper received the same offer but it was never acted on, the intended mage never arriving. Still he's no fool - a mage in their mid is a advantage they can use, as long they're loyal to this country - and so he accepts.

A festivity is arranged to celebrate the mages arrival properly, the capital decked in flowers. There's music and dance, laughter floating through the air all over town. A peaceful sight to look at from one of the balconies high above. The day is kind, the sun shining in a pleasant way upon them. Jaskier enjoys it for a while, bracing himself for what is to come.

His most loyal scouts gathered intel about the intended advisor. It's the one that was supposed to take this position decades ago. A mage or better a sorceress, sent here for her being part-elf. They had promised her Aedirn before, then changed their opinion last minute. So she ran or tried to, only to be caught trying to alter her appearance without permission of the council to get her will. They punished her, taking away both the position and any chance for alterations, locking her away into the dark. It's cruel, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. No way he'll let something like this happen again.

He's in the throne room soon after when they proclaim the arrival. Normally the mages meet their future kings at a gathering. This is an exception. This feast is only for the woman joining his side.

Yennefer of Vengerberg is brought before him clad in a black gown, like she's attending a funeral, hiding her body beneath layers of fabrics. Her lilac eyes shine bright with spite and intellect, like a furnace in the dark. Her body looks fragile, disfigured but it's brimming with power and hunger. It intrigues him immensely. Superficial appearance means little to him. He wants that woman for her mind and ferocity. To him she couldn't be any more beautiful.

Jaskier rises from his seat when she enters the room and proceeds to meet her in the middle like an equal. Taking one of her hands into his, he bows to kiss it but it's ripped away. That makes him smile. He likes them stubborn and wild.

"Welcome dearest Yennefer. It feels like I've been waiting for you my whole life and finally it is my pleasure to meet you. I'm the Emperor of Nilfgaard. You may call me your Highness or just Jaskier."

The sorceress keeps a formidable poker face, her gaze never straying too far away from what he's doing. There's no response and he's not bothered. In the past he held enough conversations running own his own, he lost count of their exact number.

"We have arranged for a chamber for you to rest in, as well as a separate one for your work. I do hope you will find them to your liking. Never hesitate to approach me if you're wishing for something, I'll do my best to fulfil it."

Gesturing towards the table loaded with food and drink, waiting with the people attending the feast, he resumes,

"But enough with chatter for now. Please enjoy this celebration in your name, we're glad to welcome you into our court. Eat and drink to your heart's desire, tomorrow there's enough work waiting for us. Our council of advisers is dying to get some insight from your side upon various matters."

For a moment surprise flickers over her pale, fine features, before it smooths back into a mask of indifference.

"Thank you… your Highness."

They take their seats and celebrate merrily. Later he takes Yennefer's hand into his, carefully reading her every reaction not to unsettle her and leads the way to the balcony facing the city. The folk is huddled under them, drawn together to get a good look at the sorceress. A loud roar of cheer follows his announcement of her name and her grip around the rail tightens with all the crowd celebrating her. Jaskier takes it in, smiling softly.

"It's what you deserve, Yennefer. Never let anybody tell you otherwise."

Looking back over the mass gathered below, he pretends not to notice the slight tremor in her shoulders.

+++

The sorceress fits perfectly into their rounds. Under his reign there's no tolerance for denouncing someone for his age, looks, race or gender. They treat everyone of with deserved respect and the Emperor makes sure every single person in his staff is living up to this ideal.

It takes time for suspicion to disappear. Being mistreated leaves you with scars that need healing, physically and emotionally. The witch is included in all important rounds, gremiums and decisions. She's clever beyond belief, quick in wit and sharp with her tongue. Jaskier adores her but refrains from physical or verbal advances of any kind. Like he promised the mage is rewarded with everything she needs and wants for her formidable work: books, money, apparel, jewelry, sweets. He's generous with all his treasured subjects in that matter. They deserve only the best.

The first months Jaskier notices a regular brush against his mind and he knows it's her. Checking for some underlying, improper vile intent, lustful thoughts maybe. She's probably waiting for the fondling to start or when he'll request her to join him bed. After all he still refrains from taking a wife, even tries to stay away from flings on the behalf of his kingdom. In the end she finds nothing and retreats every time. The touches grow more sparse the longer she stays and then recede for good. Earning her trust warms his heart.

+++

He's surprised when she approaches him one day with a special plea: Yennefer wishes for the alteration she had been denied. She wants to 'finally be beautiful'. It feels strange to him she doesn't consider herself sufficient. She's a desired woman throughout the country, many suitors and possible students lining up for her attention.

Jaskier chooses his words wisely before speaking.

"I respect your wish, Yen though… please refrain from hating me for saying, I see no necessity for that. If your looks trouble you, I'll move heaven and earth to find a way of changing that to your desire. Just let me say - as my old, sappy self - you're the most beautiful woman, I have ever encountered. I care little for what others deem 'acceptable' because I was bestowed with the blessing to look inside your soul and found you couldn't be more perfect."

Honesty is a trade he's very proud of. There's no need to lie in this regard. He means what he said. Then he adds,

"Still it is your decision to make. I won't interfere or dictate what to think. But as your friend I beg you to give it another night of thought. If your desire stays the same, I'll attend to that right away."

The sorceress pointedly looks away, eyes shimmering suspiciously wet, then nods.

They discuss a finding of hers afterwards, a lineage of ancient power passed on through blood. It's definitely mesmerising and both of them would be enthralled to get a chance to study such matter. It's hard to find reliable traces though with the old scripts being fairly vague. It's a shame but they won't give up yet. They're too stubborn to relent on anything.

The next day passes without Yennefer bringing up the wish to change again. Then the next. Also the day after.

He's still willing to assist her, should the need rise up again. Right now he enjoys to see her more at peace with herself than he ever witnessed before. He doesn't want that to change again.

+++

Not long after Jaskier finds himself a Witcher.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey sweeties,
> 
> Thx for all your amazing feedback!
> 
> Somehow this turn out longer than it felt in my head so I will split it into three chapters instead of two.
> 
> This chapter is a rather fluffy one, compared to the first with Jaskier having some bard time. I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Comments and other feedback is always highly appreciated 😘

Not long after he finds himself a Witcher.

It's one of his rare days off, where no meetings need to be attended or councils have to be held. Jaskier is, for the first day in months, free to do as he pleases and he knows exactly what he wants. He stays in bed until midday, enjoying good food while reading one of the new books Yennefer had purchased for the royal library. This one is about destiny, heroics and heartbreak, star crossed lovers fighting for a chance to be together in a cruel world. Fact is, he adores the story beyond limits. He can almost hear the roll of the sorceress' eyes but oh. The sweet joys of unconditional love leave his bardic heart weak and wanting.

After getting up, washing himself and getting dressed in a practical clothing set, Jaskier yearns to lighten his mood. On a whim he decides to ride out - the weather is warm with only minor clouds hanging the sky. Perfect for enjoying a ride through the woods. Nilfgaard's unique flora includes almost every vegetation one could think of - from green woods over waste steppes to desert like sand dunes. Their climatic habits mirrored this variety, presenting opportunities for all kinds of agriculture.

Yennefer is less than enthusiastic to join him. She's not a fan of horses, just like the animals of her. They normally keep a begrudging respect and distance towards each other, so it's no surprise she looks pretty pissed, sitting proudly on the black mare provided. It's just the two of them and a handful of guards. Jaskier longs for some privacy today, keeping those following to a minimum and they set out together. 

It feels good to be outside, away from the palace grounds, not having to worry for once. They haven't come far, following only the main trails for now, when something catches his attention. It's not really a whisper but it feels like one, calling to him. A feeling blooms inside his gut - to stray from the path, go further into the woods. A trap probably, maybe an enchantment trying to lure him into danger. Or a mischievous pixie trying to put a spell on him. Disregarding the call would be the safest choice. Jaskier was no doubt clever. He'd always pick the safest choice.

Just not today, with no one's life on the line besides his, the thirst of adventure getting the better of him.

Acting on impulse, he turns his white stallion around and dashes through the trees, the calls for his name growing quieter in the distance. The ground is uneven and soon forces him to slow down again, settling their pace into a trot that he halts upon reaching a clearing. What startles him first is the brown mare tied to a tree, nickering nervously due to their arrival. The horse is still burdened with bags, so the owner couldn't be too far. On the other side of the meadow lies a body with its' front in the grass, unmoving. Jaskier is quick to unmount his horse without any regard to his safety. Maybe the other hasn't died yet and he could help.

Quickly drawing closer and kneeling down at the man's side, he tries to turn the body around, offering words of comfort, not to startle the stranger. He notices the gleam of steel a moment too late. In the blink of an eye he's grabbed by his tunic and thrown to the ground, all air getting knocked out of his lungs by the impact. Facing his attacker, he comes to face with most intriguing golden eyes. They're otherworldly beautiful, wild and unfocused, distracting him from the blade piercing into the ground right besides his throat, nicking his skin, drawing some blood.

The man on top of him is a fine specimen with broad shoulders and a strong body. A mop of silvery hair crowns his head, dirty and dishevelled. Jaskier's eyes are immediately drawn to the red angry gash visible under the fabric of an undertunic, tainting it dark red. The wound seems agitated, infected even. Checking the man's face again, he's met with a chiseled jaw and fever sweat sticking to his forehead, making it shine. The stranger's complexion is unusually pale, but not considering the loss of blood and pain he's probably in. Still the man tries to show no weakness, controlling his heavy breathing when he grolls,

"Fuck off… or I'll shut you up… for good…"

Jaskier's heart leaps in his chest. Not from fear but from excitement. He has to have this man. Whatever it takes.

His voice is nothing but steady while he holds the golden gaze.

"You're beautiful."

An irritated grunt is the only answer he receives before the man collapses on top of him, nearly crushing him with his muscular body. Well, there are worse ways to go and Jaskier has been in many strange situations. This could easily make it to his favourites though. All in all it could definitely be worse. So he waits patiently for Yennefer to find him and it doesn't take long for her to appear in his line of sight, lips pressed tightly together.

"Do I want to know about this?"

She may sound exasperated but there's also relief clinging to it. That her king is well, considering the circumstances - like the sword embedded next to him. He smiles sheepishly but spares her an answer and just shrugs. With her aid he's freed from the bulk caging him and he studies the unconscious man's wound again.

"He needs a healer, quickly at that or he'll die."

Yennefer just clicks her tongue, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"No healer will be willing to aid him. He's a Witcher. The butcher of Blaviken at that."

Jaskier doesn't know what a Witcher is, whether it's a species or a profession. But he heard the rumours of the Butcher, of a man that slaughtered a band of bandits inside the streets of the Redanian backwater shithole, soaking the ground with blood. The brunette looks at the limp form, then shakes his head. He won't let a man die in his woods, because he turned a blind eye to the situation over a reputation. He's better than that. 

Pushing up to stand again, squaring his shoulder, he brushes off his doubts.

"Those in our services will or else they have to report directly to me. Please get the guards and the horse tied to the tree over there, then open a portal for us, Yen. There's no more time to waste. We return to the palace at once."

+++

Witchers are a profession, he learns. A very special one for sure. Skilled warriors, trained to perfection, heavily mutated through gruesome trials at a young age, they seek out the monstrosities roaming around, thirsting for human blood and flesh, to get rid of them. They are stronger, faster, with heightened senses and enhanced healing. Purely inhuman and unnatural, so often people treated them like the monster they hunted. Only willing to tolerate them while the Witchers were needed, then chasing them away again.

The cruel irony leaves the young emperor puzzled, while he watches the Witcher getting treated by their healer. Being hated for saving humanity was a tough chip on one's shoulder, considering their extended life spans even more so. While knights were praised and adored for similar deeds, the Witcher guild found themselves at the receiving end. If there was anything to receive.

The elven healer works with practiced ease, not fazed by his unusual patient in the least. He's a professional, also kind and a pleasant man to deal with. Chireadan came to them from Rinde, to learn more and expand his skills and stayed after that. Jaskier would almost consider him a friend. But emperor have no friends, only close acquaintances, Yennefer always says. Better not to tell a woman with magic she's wrong, at least in this regard.

Jaskier stays behind with the stranger, the healer leaving after finishing the treatment. Though the wound is infected, he'll pull through. He's a fighter, Chireadan said. With the nasty gash cleaned, bandaged and the pain lessening, the Witcher almost looks peaceful. Jaskiers eyes wander over his features. There a thin cuts littered all around his face and forehead. He knows, where such injuries originate from. Back then Julian had worn them quite often. 

The other had been pelted with stones. 

It makes something rise in his gut, that he hasn't felt like the Usurper. Or Yen's treatment by the council of mages. Something dark and cruel. He swallows it down, closing his eyes, just breathing for a bit. It has no place here. At least not right now.

Wrapping one of the silver locks around his index finger, the calm settles back in. He likes this one. He intends to keep him.

+++

"May I know, where you're planning to go?"

The white-haired man freezes almost comically in his ways of sneaking out the healing room. He's still just clad in his pants and bandages, the rest of his gear amiss. Golden eyes focus on him, a sneer in place.

"Where the fuck are my clothes? Give them back and I'll be gone."

Oh, what a well mannered one. Jaskier isn't startled in the least, the tray with a bowl of soup, some bread and tea still in his hands. He's put up with enough bratty nobles throughout his life. This Witcher won't give him a run for his coin. 

His tune is leveled, even. Like talking to a pouting child.

"Are you perhaps short of a marble? You're not going anywhere. You're injured, sick from the infection and your clothes are in the wash, so you don't look like a stray rascal anymore."

Or smell like one. The aroma of his fabrics hasn't been very pleasant either.

"So get back to bed. I bring food."

The raw look of pure confusion and distrust nearly make him sigh. It's like with Yennefer all over again. But he's patient and not here for a discussion, so he ushers the bigger man back inside the room, into the bed and lets him eat. He doesn't miss the subtle sniff he's giving every bite. Checking for poisons or other drugs. Dear gods, what had they done to the man?

"You know, you gave me quite a scare back there. How come you ended up in the woods, with a dire wound like that?"

The Witcher grunts between two gulps of tea.

"Fought a striga. Nasty thing. Tore me open. The village ran me out before I could patch myself up."

He doesn't seem bothered in the least. It's worrisome. Jaskier makes a low noise of recognition. Obviously the other one is not in the mood for a chat or just taciturn by nature.

"Idiots they are, for not respecting their saviour."

The butcher looks at him, like he had hit him in the face before returning to his soup. In the dim light, it looked like a bit of colour rose to the pale face.

"Hmn."

So eloquent. And beautiful. He has to keep himself from smirking.

"Well then master Witcher - do you have a name I can refer you to? Or do I have to make one up by myself?"

A short glare is send his way. Jaskier doesn't care. It irritates the other man delightfully.

"Geralt of Rivia."

"Wonderful! So Geralt - I pretty much saved your life back then, bringing you here, getting you a cure for your troubles. I think usually a life debt is met with compensation in your guild, right?"

Geralt still scowls, snorting under his breath.

"What do you want? I don't have anything of interest. Or do you plan to call on the Law of Surprise?"

Heavens no. He doesn't need no crop or pup, less even a child. Jaskier wants something else entirely. His blue eyes shine in the candle light with a gleam of mischief.

"No my dear Witcher, there is other I seek than property or riches,"

Their gazes meet. An exciting kind of energy crackling between them.

"I want you to stay by my side. Until the day I pass away."

+++

"I can't stay." the Witcher says when he's shown to his room after he recuperates. Jaskier made sure to pick one of decent size, fitting for a big man like Geralt. By pure luck, it is also located near his own chambers. Who would have thought him so lucky?

Witcher have vowed to wander the Path, ridding this world off monsters for coin. Jaskier doesn't mind. He's willing to let Geralt travel the routes he wishes for, spanning all the way to Cintran borders. Surely there are more than enough vile creatures to slay in their empire and the connected provinces. He will pay the man most handsomely for his services.

He equips the other with new gear, his old one ripped and too worn down to make it worth saving. The best craftspeople he could find, have worked on it - it's sturdy but light, hard to tear through with blades and claws alike. Jaskier hands it over with a satisfied smile, alongside Geralt's mighty swords, freshly returned from a proper repair at the royal smithee. The armour is pitch black like the one before, like the Witcher prefers it. Like their coat of armour. Seeing him dressed like that, in their typical Nilfgaardian black, makes a pleasant tingle rush up his spine. 

It's sating a possessive streak in him, he didn't know he had.

He proposes the same offer that he presented to Yennefer: If the man wanted anything, he's just to put it in words and he'll see it through. The reaction is blunt.

"I need nothing. And the last thing I want, is someone needing me."

Geralt is an enigma to him, that he hopes to solve one day. Standing next to him in his own room, close but yet far away, he smiles a bit.

"And yet, here we are."

+++

With their continued rise to power, whispers start floating around the northern countries. They are supposed to ally with demons and monsters. They're monsters themselves, stealing children from their cribs at night, to feast on their blood. Their religion is embedded with dark magics brought by the elves, tainting their hearts, making them soulless and cruel.

It's absolutely ridiculous. No portion of truth is inside those words. Still it makes tension rise between them and the North and he's less than happy about that. Envy and misinformation can be a venomous spread inside the fragile alliances they crafted. He has to sort out that matter sooner than later.

Jaskier takes his round of advisors on a walk among the palace grounds, fresh air fueling their thoughts and conversations. All of them are idle to sooth the strain put on their political position. Cintra is acting the most vicious towards them, lashing out at any given opportunity. Jaskier knows the country is strong and proud like its queen, the lioness, but his patience is bound to run out one day. He will not tolerate more accusations or insults sullying his country's standing.

They come across the courtyard and Yennefer's talking about something concerning Cintra but his attention is drawn elsewhere.

The Witcher is sparring with some of their finer soldiers across the yard, keeping up to five man occupied at the same time, without receiving remarkable blows in exchange. His white hair shimmers in the sun as he turns and twists, so fast and strong like a predator wrestling down his prey. He's clad in a black tunic this time and a comfortable pair of pants. It's hugging his backside rather lovely and the fabric on his back is riding just high enough to flash some glimpses of skin and muscle underneath. Jaskier feels too warm suddenly, just at the display put up before him.

And Geralt is still there. Though he remains stubborn about returning to the path.

"Jaskier. Jaskier? Are you listening?"

Yennefer's furious voice wrecks his train of thought and he tries to keep his eyes trained on her now. It's hard.

"I'm sorry I was… minutely distracted. Could you please repeat your last words for me?"

Lilac eyes know very well where his gaze strayed to. They shine with annoyance but otherwise she brushes it off, though a hint of warning still lingers.

"With the insight of the new scripts from Filavandrel's library in the Blue Mountains, I was able to pinpoint the distribution of the Elder Blood - the proper name of the the ancient magic we read about - more closely. It looks like someone tried to erase those possessing this power, to keep it from spreading. The only reliable and useful trail I could decipher, leads north. To Cintra's royal lineage."

Of course. It had to be the most complicated case. Why should it be easy for once? 

But Jaskier didn't back away from challenges. Thinking hard, he hums quietly.

"Then we should send an offer to Calanthe. We could grant her access to some of our resources in exchange for a possibility to research this more closely. Maybe we can work out a truce of extended trading. Having Cintra and Skellige as our allies should calm the other nations as well."

Agreeing murmurs sound around him and once more his gaze wanders to Geralt, catching him looking over as well. They hold their gazes for a moment. It's like their eyes are drawn to each other. 

He hopes their hearts and bodies are too.

+++

"I can't stay." says the Witcher shouldering his pack, leaving to hunt down a wyvern in Gemmeria.

"That's good," claims the emperor, clad in his bardic clothes, his loyal lute clutched in his hands, "because I'll accompany you on this adventure."

Geralt is notably shocked, trying to convince him to stay. To keep away from the danger and the monsters lurking outside. But Jaskier knows danger, knows monsters. He has slain one in human form after all.

Everything is arranged. In his absence Yennefer will take over the affairs with aid of their scholars. There's nothing to worry about. She'll handle it perfectly, like she does everything else.

Besides his hunger for some change and adventure, he hopes to find inspiration to compose a song for his Witcher. They had served him pretty well in his life, swayed the views of those listening easier than silent actions did. People loved to be entertained, enchanted, taken into a wondrous world of sensation and told what to believe. It's always been his forte to do that.

So he accompanies Geralt on his quest, enjoying the time between them and their tumble with the beast.

Shortly after he sings "Toss a coin" for the first time, in a tavern on their way back to the palace. It becomes overly popular, spreading over the empire like a wildfire. The change is beginning.

Jaskier watches it with satisfaction.

+++

"I can't stay," says the Witcher, wiping drowner blood of his blade. He's later showered in flowers, the village he liberated begging him to feast with them and stay a little longer, eager to hear his tales. The bard strums a new tune on his lute, adoring the flower crown placed on silvery hair.

"I can't stay," says the Witcher, returning with him to the capital after saving a group of children from being eaten alive by a Bruxa. One overjoyed mother had even hugged him out of impulse, leaving Geralt dumbfounded for an entire hour. They're greeted with a warm welcome, both of them being tended to, checked for any injuries and needs for nourishment without reluctance. Jaskier pretends to struggle with his boots, so the Witcher can handle the flustered flush on his cheeks.

"I can't stay," says the Witcher, pressed out between clenched teeth, when he saves the brunette from a magical assassin using a killer insect. The beast's blade almost pierces his shoulder but his gear catches the worst of it. Throwing his enemy off with a blast of magic - a sign Jaskier remembers - he downs a potion, his complexion growing deathly pale, onyx depths swallowing up his eyes. The battle is hard but short, the insect slain and the assassin taken away to gather intel. Geralt is still breathing heavily, the potion burning inside his body. He does it even more so, when Jaskier shoves him against the nearest wall, kissing him with passion and pure want, swallowing those rumbly moans before taking him to bed, silencing him in other ways then just with his lips.

"I can't-" Geralt chokes out, lying on the grass with him in the palace gardens, watching the stars above, sounding utterly lost. Jaskier takes one of the Witcher's hands into his, squeezing reassuringly before placing a kiss on the magnificent palm.

"I know my beloved Witcher. If that's what you really want, I won't hold you back. But rest assured, I will miss you dearly, every moment not spent at your side."

They kiss some more that night, exchanging tender, sweet caresses without hurry, betraying their feelings for each other.

Geralt doesn't leave the next day or those after. He stays in his newfound home.

He becomes Jaskier's right hand like Yennefer is his left, his infatuating warrior, tearing through their enemies on the battlefield like he butcher is rumoured to be. Strengthening their forces during the expansion of their power. 

The truth couldn't be further away. He has rarely met a human with a more tender heart like Geralt's. 

But he keeps that all to himself, locking it away for just him and his people to see.

+++

Finally the assassin spills his secrets. It paints a frown on Yennefer's serene face while she enters the throne room. Jaskier's busy with applicants but offers them a break to rest after the long journey to the capital to see him.

It's the council of mages that wants him dead. 

What an utter disappointment. He had expected them to be brave enough, to confront him directly, not hiding behind foul tricks. Obviously he was foolish to believe that.

Also Cintra answered their offer of trade. It is a very impolite letter telling him to 'shove the treaty into his fat arse' and 'stick to his own affairs'. Well, nobody could say he didn't try to play nice. Maybe the time has come to change that.

Looking at Yennefer, an overly friendly smile is taking over his lips, showing off the white teeth underneath. Below the mirth, there's danger lurking, ready to rise.

"My dear, what do you think of sending a little warning, for what we think of those manners?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit is about to go down in the laat chapter. Hard. 
> 
> As I returned to work it might take a little longer to update, so please bear with me ♡


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I promise I don't do this on purpose...
> 
> This story just keeps getting longer 😂 than it feels in my head. But I promise the next chapter is also the last one - the great finale!
> 
> Please be aware of the violence in this chapter. If you could be triggered by that, you shouldn't read!

Pride is a fickle thing.

It blinds observational skills, lulls even cautious people into a sense of false safety. The council of mages is powerful enough to lead the world's course throughout the last centuries. Rarely they have to fear anyone or anything, believing themselves to be above the threat of being conquerable.

This is incorrect. A first taste of fear they tasted with Yennefer's attempt to defy their will and reshape her destiny. They had been able to contain it back then, locked her away in the vain hope to break her will and form her to their wishes. They didn't. The council only fueled her anger, her ambition, her thirst for revenge.

And this time it's different. This time the sorceress isn't alone anymore.

+++

"Against popular belief Nilfgaard has no interest in taking over the continent."

Tension in the council meeting is thick, ever since Yennefer stepped alone into the conclave she was not invited to. The present mages try their best not to defy any of their emotions, but under the pretense of calm, she can feel their buzzing thoughts. The air tastes of disdain, suspicion and suppressed fear. Ironically this makes her relax even more, makes her feel powerful. Let those idiots tremble at the thought of their power.

"Emperor Jaskier is nothing but a just ruler, seeking freedom and protection for our people. He has revived a hollow shell of a country, by dedicating its interest to a new purpose.

He strengthened the politics of trades, continually funding research of any kind and encourages the flourishing of arts. Never has he shown any intent of lashing out towards an uninvolved bystander. We believe preserving peace is the utmost goal to be achieved."

Lilac eyes wander over the faces directed at her. Assessing, calculating. Observing all underlying motives.

"Still Cintra leaves no opportunity untouched to provoke. Their displayed disrespect for our customs and disregard for any opinion besides their own, show much they have strayed from the path of order the council has forged for life over the last centuries. Until today they refuse to have any of our representatives among their court which further hardens the allegations against them."

Stregobor, the leader of this council, does not seem to be impressed, his posture arrogant as always.

"Then you speak for Nilfgaard as well in that regard. It has been some time, since we have seen _you_ trudge any of the paths this council protects."

A sly smile tugs on her lips. What a feeble attempt of provocation.

"Oh, we do. We have just modified them - guided by the White Flame, under the protection of the Great Sun shining upon our empire."

There's a subtle rage simmering below the surface at her words. Good. Just a little more prodding and it will explode.

"Nilfgaard believes there is no dark or light magic, there's only controlled chaos that aids reaching your goal. A goal Cintra is searching to disturb. In their obscure show of despise, they even hired an assassin to dispose of the Emperor, in an unveiled attempt of provoking a war."

Subtle shifting draws her eyes to Arturios and his niece Fringilla, who had taken her seat in the court of Aedirn all those years ago, right out her hands. Looking back Yennefer realises, it might have been for the best, though her wrath towards them has not quietened in the least. Having to spend decades to smooth out feeble affairs of nobility and being nothing but a polished babysitter to undespeciable humans sounded horribly degrading. Instead she walked their court as an equal, respected, making a difference. Yennefer helped to create something bigger, something better.

Only over her cold, dead body she would ever accept someone attacking her family again.

For now she keeps her cool. The grand finale has come.

"The purpose of my speech today, is to convince you to remain neutral should any kind of conflict arise between Cintra and Nilfgaard. We are not planning to stay silent and endure their behaviour forever.

So as this council usually prefers not to take sides anyway, but might be swayed to do so in an imprudent rush of emotion,"

her gaze bores into the cold glares of the older mages,

"we advise you to stay out of our way. Or you will face the consequences of your action."

For a moment it is quite enough to hear a pin fall, all attendees of the conclave shocked by the clear threat voiced against them. Interfere and face punishment. It has been ages since someone had held enough power to pose a possible menace and declare it that openly.

Then, in a sudden swell of rage and wounded pride, an uproar flares through the room. Like a nest of hornets stirring into action. Many are furious, harshly hissing at her for speaking up. Yennefer looks to Triss and she seems unsettled about this course of conversation. Obviously she hasn't been aware of any of this. She has always been to good for this world.

Sabrina also seems thoughtful und undecided. Last her gaze lingers with Tissaia, her teacher and almost-mother, that had not been able to save her from the council's wrath decades ago. The sorceress looks exasperated but not offended. If Yennefer wouldn't know better, there could be hints of pride in the rectoress' dark eyes.

Suddenly it's quiet again. Stregobor has risen from his seat, expression smug but cold.

"Thank you for the warning, Yennefer. But the council will find its decision in what is best for the continent, not trembling under some well-placed bluffs of an overly snide child-ruler and his deluded mage.

Leave this gathering at once and we will forget this.. affront without any harm to your person."

Both of them face each other in a silent battle of wills, before the black-haired sorceress relents. For now.

"I noted the conclave's decision. May it aid you well in the events to come."

Turning around, ignoring the attention concentrated on her frail body, she leaves for the double winged door forming the entrance. Opening it with a wave of her hand, a smile comes out to play on her lips.

Several small projectiles shoot past her shoulders, into the room that slams shut once she passes the threshold. The muffled blast as they detonate to release their content sends a pleasant shiver down her spine.

+++

Satisfaction is rolling in waves off Jaskier as he walks down the line of captured mages, locked in place by his man and heavy iron shackles, grinning like a cat that got the cream. Under normal circumstances this wouldn't be a challenge to a proper magic user. Channeling chaos comes to them like breathing, like a second nature after decades of training. Dealing with a captured mage could cost one's life easily, they always fight most vicious when cornered. But here's the thing - Jaskier is not the child the council believes him to be. He planned ahead and found an easy solution to that problem.

Dimeritium. Helpful little thing.

A special metal that suppresses magical abilities in mages if used correctly. The kingdom of Kovir possessed one of the largest sources on the continent, among many other useful minerals. It had been an easy pick as a partner in trade back then. They also vowed neutrality should any conflict arise between Cintra and the South. It was perfect.

Just like Yennefer. She never disappointed him and lives up to that. Thanks to her, they could easily infiltrate the building the council chose for their conclave. In their sheer arrogance they hadn't expected a direct attack and after they drugged all of them with the small bombs containing the anti-magical metal powder, it was just too easy to detain them. With the effect of surprise on their side, none had been able to flee, immediately paralysed and easy for them to take captive. Dimeritium shackles infused with iron kept them from going anywhere. It is almost too easy.

The emperor is dressed in a sleek, black armour, a cape with their coat of armour adorning his back. Small engravings litter it, fragile details of buttercups painted in gold on the seams and rims. The petite flowers are pretty but poisonous. Just like him. He chose his namesake well.

The sword belted to his hips feels strangely unfamiliar. He prefers to shoot, a bow or an crossbow, whatever is at hand. But this is just for show. They're here to make an impression and a statement. The mages had been powerful long enough. It was time to redirect some of that power to higher purposes.

Yennefer waits for him in the middle, looking strong, confident and calm. She has no regrets and he's relieved to see that. Aretuza and their mages are still an important piece of her past. Jaskier would never rip this away without her consent. He checks her over once more, looking for injuries, but she's unharmed. She played her part flawlessly, the perfect bait to lure them into the set trap. Taking her hand as he arrived at her side, he presses a chaste kiss to her knuckles. What would he do without this talented woman at his side?

Geralt hovers close, looking grumpy but otherwise saying nothing. He was pretty possessive in nature and even though he knew there was nothing but respect and platonic love between him and the witch, the Witcher always likes to check again. Jaskier thinks it's cute. His wolf pup being all protective of him. It warms his heart at night.

But right now there is no space for warmth or gentleness. It's time for the council to decide their fate.

"Ladies and gentlemen - what a pleasant surprise to find us gathered here, all together."

He snickers quietly over their collective glares. They were like dogs that wanted to bite but couldn't. Unfazed he continues,

"Sadly our meeting has an unfortunate reason as your leader so foolishly decided on the opinion you represent, without asking you in the first place."

He slowly walks a few steps.

"We are well aware of the assassin's true master and it makes me sad that obviously some of your ranks want me dead, but don't have to courage fight me themselves."

"Then let's change that," Arturios hisses, struggling in the hold of his man, "take of these shackles and I'll give you a fight you'll never forget!"

"So brash," Jaskier tuts, ignoring the furious man, "but I feel just as generous as I always am, so I present you with a choice."

He turns, without haste, to look at all of them.

"Swear loyalty to Nilfgaard and I'll let you go. You're free to practice your magic, you don't even have to stay in our capital for all I care. I will give you fitting positions in our provinces, riches and power or for whatever you long for. I take good care of my subjects and you'll be handled with the same respect my people are rewarded with, as long you don't betray me."

A hint colder he adds, but smile still in place,

"Or refuse, if this is what you really want and die. Right here, on these grounds. It's your decision."

Distressed voices flare up and he begins to walk again, stopping short in front of a certain rectoress.

"This offer is exclusively for the members of the council but you."

His blue eyes wander from Tissaia to the blonde Sabrina, over to Triss.

"You three have been requested as a gift from my dear Yennefer. And who am I to refuse her that? You'll be under her command, at all times, aiding her in her duties."

He continues his way down the line, facing Arturios and his niece once more,

"Also you two are exempt from that as well. You incurred my witch's wrath and therefore will face death, no matter what you pick."

Jaskier cares little for Fringilla's weeping or the outraged yell of her uncle. When Yennefer wanted them gone, he wouldn't interfere.

Finally he came to his last stop, right in front of the council's leader.

"So you have to be Stregobor, correct? I always assumed you were a bit… slimmer."

The mage's scowl was filled with pure hate and disgust.

"You were the one to bestow my Witcher with his title. 'The butcher of Blaviken'. Certainly has a ring to it, for sure, it's just… a little overly dramatic, don't you agree?"

In a practiced motion he unsheats his sword and brings it to the older man's throat. The tip sinks into soft flesh, drawing some blood and making the other hiss in pain.

"Beg for his mercy, old man, his forgiveness. I want to see you grovel and then I'll let you live."

Maybe. Rather unlikely. He isn't disappointed when the man opens his mouth,

"I'd rather find my end than to beg this abominable monstrosity for anything."

The mage even spits on the ground before Jaskier. He thought as much. Some people just couldn't be saved - neither from their own pride nor idiocy.

He smirks, leaning closer.

"Do you want to hear, what is rather funny? You may call the Witcher a butcher, but…"

He now leans close enough to whisper in the man's ear who tries to get away from him,

"There's only one butcher here and it surely isn't him."

With a single look his men understand and let go of their prisoner. Stregobor flails, outraged.

"You measly rodent, I will crush you with my-"

Jaskier's sword impales itself straight through his traitorous blabbering mouth and through the back of his head in a single, powerful motion. Blood pulses out of the wound before the blade retracts again and the man drops limp to the ground, red seeping into it. Someone screams but he doesn't care. He has slain a monster looking like a human before. There are no regrets.

Not wiping the blood of his sword, he turns to the remaining mages again. Their looks of fear make him smile once more.

"So, who would like to live to see another day?"

+++

Not all of them make the clever choice.

Jaskier doesn't even expects all of them to be loyal, gods forbid. They will have to keep a close eye on most of them, but he's positive he can convince them of Nilfgaard's worth with given time. At least they are able to survive.

He could respect those choosing to oppose him out of pure spite, few not willing to betray their own believes. He wouldn't decide in any other way if he were to choose between betraying his home or cruel death.

Yennefer takes care of their execution, while the survivors are brought away, through the portals she opened up. Letting the chaos inside her flow free, red hot flame engulf the remaining sorcerers' bodies, shriveling them to coal under gruesome screams. There's noone left alive and she heaves from the exhaustion put on her body, eyes wild when the sorceress falls. Jaskier is quick to catch her, cradling her in his arms, while she cries and laughs at the same time. After all those years in the dark, alone, beaten with nobody caring for her or coming to her rescue, she finally avenged herself. 

They had taken her choice back then. Now they'd never do so again.

Her friend holds her close the whole time, petting through black silky locks while murmuring sweet words of comfort. Once she calmed enough and decides they are ready to leave, she turns to him once more, wiping the last remnants of tears from her face with a sleeve.

"I assume the rest is already set in motion?"

Jaskier smiles at her determination and nods.

"Right now all belongings from Aretuza and Ban Ard are transferred to our Academies of Magic in Vicovaro and Loc Grim. No more mages or witches will be raised and trained outside of our borders. With the remaining council of mages in our hands, we also hold the privilege of magic on the continent."

It's a dizzying yet fulfilling thought. Magic, a sole privilege to their Empire.

They are the last to retreat back through the portals, just Yennefer, Geralt and him. There's still plenty of work to do.

After all they have a lot of new guests to settle down in a new home.

+++

Attacking the council and robbing the North of its magicians was a risky move. It could easily be interpreted as a declaration of war and he can feel the Northern kingdoms grit their teeth in anger. Still, with no wizards left on their side, it would be a disastrous move to attack them. Nilfgaard has more soldiers, more resources and now also more mages at their disposal.

Jaskier had taken a risk. And he won.

It's a statement to the remaining kingdoms not under their rule. He really has no interest to conquer them, just like Yennefer said. But he won't face further provocation without consequences.

+++

Obviously even Cintra wasn't idiotic enough to draw more of their ire towards them. Jaskier had extended another offer of reconciliation and for the first time in decades his diplomats were welcomed to the Cintran grounds. A huge progress considering their past, it brightened his mood immensely. His men sent goods news, the queen accepted their conditions for a truce and also their plans of trade.

The former bard asked for nothing but peace between their countries and free passage for his allies in the Blue mountains. Filavandrel and his kin had lived at the edge of the world for long enough, hunted like beasts, starving and fallen from any grace. He agreed without hesitation to help them settle in Nilfgaard, a spot in the South with a mild climate and lush forests catching his eye. The soil was fertile there, space plenty to have. They'd fit in just nicely and his people would be honoured to find close relatives of their ancestors walking among them. All they needed to do, was safely cross Cintra's borders for that. And finally - _finally!_ \- Calanthe had seen sense and agreed to let them go, unwanted in her own lands anyway.

So he orders a celebration, a feast for them, their new guests and all citizens. It's a glorious day for everyone and he wishes to share that.

The mood is cheerful, plates loaded with food, tankards being filled over and over again. Through the course of the evening he finds himself inspired and sings some songs himself, loving how it feels to just be a bard once more. Other times he's with Geralt or Yen, talking, joking and ushering them to dance. At the end of the night he's tipsy with wine and happiness and giggles in the arms of his strong Witcher carrying him towards his own chamber. No, he decides, their chamber. They have been inseparable from the start.Why drag things out further than necessary?

They cuddle together, basking in the afterglow of their passion, with Jaskier's head comfortably resting on top of Geralt's chest, listening to the Witcher's slow heartbeat. Naked bodies aligned together in perfect fashion, it feels like they were destined to be together. This and the strong hand musing through his hair make him shiver in delight. He can hardly remember when he has been happier than this.

Geralt looks thoughtful, he's even quieter than usual. Blue eyes study his face and Jaskier props himself up to look at him.

"What troubles you, my love? Any dark thoughts lingering in your mind?"

The Witcher shakes his head, reluctant to answer.

"I just thought… I acquired a child of Surprise about thirteen years ago, in the middle of the Cintran court, by accident. It happens to be Calanthe's grandchild, though it was not my intention back then. She was furious, chasing me out the country with the promise to end me, should I ever return to claim, what is rightfully mine. I wonder if she would… if she would at least let me see the child now after the boundaries set up between them and us."

Jaskier feels his own thoughts coming to a hold upon hearing these news. His Witcher had a child?

"You have… what?"

How could he never tell him any of that?! They had been together for years now!

"I'm sorry.. I just happened to forget about it until now."

Dear Sun, send this man some brain. Geralt usually was pretty clever, but often it seems like there's not a little bit of wisdom left in his pretty head. Jaskier can't decide if he wants to slap said head or kiss him, so he settles for a pout instead.

"What an outrageous thing not to tell me! All the opportunities I have missed to tease you with this. So come now - no cutting short of the story - tell me exactly what happened."

It's a merry tale about love and destiny and though he likes Calanthe even less now, he knows one thing for sure: his Witcher is too blunt for his own good in certain situations. He'll definitely have to keep an eye out for that.

Chuckling to himself, he brushes a strand of loose silver hair behind Geralt's ear.

"Oh what a story! I wish I could have been there to witness it."

Huddling closer again, he presses a kiss to the other's neck.

"I'm sure you'll meet your child soon. We can go together if you like. To fulfil your destiny."

The Witcher just hums in response and cups his chin, tilting it into another kiss.

Oh yes, he couldn't be happier.

+++

"They are dead, your Highness. All of them."

Jaskier freezes, the words turning his blood to ice. The messenger shrinks away from the intensity of the scowl settling on his face. His throat is painfully tight.

"How?"

"Cintra has broken the truce, my Emperor. Queen Calanthe ordered her man to attack Filavandrel and his kin, interpreting their trespassing of the borders as an act of violence against her rule. They… they left no survivors, not even the women or children."

He can't breath, the walls closing in on him. No matter how much air he sucks into his lungs, it's not enough. It just burns. His heart, his eyes, his body. Everything. 

All of them, gone. In an instant, wiped out with pure cruelty for … for what? An act of spite? A spit to his face?

He balls his hands into fists, trying not to let the rage get in control. Sitting on his throne, he almost trembles with sheer fury. Yennefer besides him has paled, but shows no emotion otherwise. Geralt seems worried - for him, not for Cintra. The man opens his mouth again, shaking very visibly in fear,

"They… they also sent back our men, our diplomats. They-"

his voice chokes up in misery, before he can wring out the next words,

"Cut them down, Mylord, every single one and sent them here in a sack, their remains thrown together."

This is it. The last straw.

"Out! Everyone, now!" the brunette barks, voice filled with steel and authority. Nobody dares to defy his will, but his closests acquaintances know he wants them to stay. Just them, no others.

With the last servant leaving the room and closing the doors, his body slumps in a sudden wave of fatigue. Tears well up in his eyes, running hot and fast over his cheeks, while he urges himself to quieten his sobs. He vowed that one fateful day never to cry again. Until today he stood true to his words, but now even his heart can't take no more.

His friends are on him in an instant, strong arms holding him tight, hands caressing his head and hair in an intimate way. They talk to him, voices but a whisper, telling him to breath, deeply, slowly. Jaskier does as he's told and the tears recede over time. His head rests against Geralt's chest, Yennefer's arm wrapped protectively around his shoulders as he murmurs,

"Inform the troops to get ready. At dawn we're marching North. If Cintra wants a war, they can have it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On to the first Nilfgaardian War now.
> 
> I think about tweaking the events a bit, there's a certain person I'd like to spare but I'm not sure yet...
> 
> Any ideas?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is - the grand finale!
> 
> This gave me some mayor headache (how to proceed, what to mention, who to kill etc) and I apologise to my poor wife 😂 who endured it all.
> 
> I tweaked Cintra's numbers in their favour a lot - Nilfgaards army count is pretty fixed bur according to Witcher Wiki Skellige's army is like only 300 men?? And the showmakers state on 'every 200 Cintrans come 20.000 Nilfgaardian" and yeah well no. It seemed stupid to send 1300 people against 100.000. So I brightened it up.
> 
> Enjoy the read and please feel free to leave some feedback :) I'm pretty satisfied how it turned out. It feels like a good compromise between how Cintra went and how I want Jaskiee portrayed.
> 
> Have fun.

Looking back the next dawn was maybe a bit optimistic. Their forces are huge in numbers and though they make haste, it takes three days for everyone to be called into arms, equipped and ready to march. In the pass of said days not only their own army soldiers answer the call. Many of the Elven tribes, that once resettled their homes into the Empire, join the ranks, craving revenge for their slaughtered brothers and sisters. Warriors, spies, healers, alchemists. All of them are openly welcomed and bestowed the the same weapons and gears. Jaskier will make no difference between anyone willing to step up to defend their country. The size of their army will provide another statement to anyone considering to attack them again.

He thinks about bringing catapults but decides against it. The machinery is heavy, slow. It will hinder their way over the mountains, he intends to take. Also with the mages along their lines, there will be no need for them anyway. His blue eyes wander to Yennefer, that is giving quick orders to her new assistants. All three of them look either reluctant or unfazed, at least Tissaia. She has probably lived through enough battles and wars to write a book about that. After all this is done, he'd like to get to know her better. Triss and Sabrina are no less interesting but there's something about the more experienced mage that piques his curiosity. He always had a weakness for strong women and she's no exception.

One of the palace's servants approaches him at the large table they use to plan the strategies for the upcoming attack. The man stops just a few steps short, bowing deeply, looking nervous.

"Sire, deepest apologies to interrupt your work but there are some… gentlemen waiting outside, eager to speak to you, not accepting any kind of our boundaries. They state they wish to join our forces in the upcoming battle."

Jaskier is surprised. They're almost ready to set out, the last recruits arrived yesterday late afternoon. Still he gestures for the newcomers to be brought in. He's willing to listen to anyone joining their side.

The group of six is dressed in brown gear, two swords attached to their backs, straps with bottles and bombs adorning their armour. Jaskier doesn't have to see their cat-like eyes to know, who they are. 

They are Witchers.

But their swords and necklaces are not like the ones, he knows from Geralt. No wolves then. One of the man, a big brunette with a sturdy build takes one step to the front.

"Greetings Emperor. We are those remaining from the Witcher School of the Manticore. We stayed hidden for long, roaming your lands and those far East, dealing with the monsters there. Over the past few years we noticed some… changes."

Slitted eyes never leave his face. He's studied intently as he doesn't flinch away. Why should he? He never had to fear any of their kind.

"We are a dying branch, weary of being outcasts and spit on. It looks like your people are more friendly towards us than anywhere else so - so here's the deal: we are willing to fight for you in the upcoming battle for Cintra. In return we demand a place to stay after the war, to live freely and in peace."

Jaskier huffs, smiling a bit. They are a bit brute but Geralt warned him about the guild's manners. They were old, battle hardened and often worn from the misery they witnessed and endured. So he steps up to the Witcher talking, looking him dead in the eye. His nostrils flare visibly, looking for the usual scent of fear or despise that clings to humans when they speak to them. The Witcher seems puzzled at the lack of any of this. Instead Jaskier's hand is moving towards him, offering to shake.

"We have a deal then."

At dawn of the next day his army of hundred thousand subjects is on its march towards Cintra.

+++

The southern provinces are quite a sight to behold. The landscape around them is green and beautiful, not so hot to stew even while riding in his armour. Jaskier can feel his heart pulse at the serene sight all around him. If only he could travel it for a happier reason. The army passes by towns and villages, attracting attention and curious glances, wherever they are. Some inhabitants watch quietly while they move past, others wave and cheer for good luck. The Emperor would really like to come back here soon, traveling those sceneries with nothing but his Witcher at his side. Not now, he knows, there is a duty they have to deal with. But maybe some other day, even if it's still far away now.

They reach the entry to the Amell Mountains on their fourth day of travel, just at sundown. They'll use the pass leading to the Marnadal Stairs, landing directly on Cintran land. The region behind the mountains is vast and flat, perfect to cross it in short time. Even with the Cintrans waiting there for them, they would be able to use their full strength. So they set up a camp, a last one before battle and take a final rest.

The night is quiet and calm. Jaskier's tent isn't overly big but luxuriously decorated with pillows, furs and rugs to lie on. His back has always been a pesky thing, hurting easily when sleeping in the wrong position or carrying heavy weights. Thank the sun he doesn't have to do that anymore. Geralt does a lot of the heavy lifting for him these days, even when he isn't ordering him to. The Witcher likes to lend a helping hand to others in the palace and it makes his bard and ruler just adore him even more. Right now Geralt is seated on a pillow, sword propped up on his legs, tending to the blade.

Oh, there's another sword **_he_** would like to tend to. But he refrains from it for now. His white-haired companion enjoys the meditative task of cleaning his twin swords and could get pretty grumpy at interruptions. The night is still young. Jaskier would be able to get his fill of the gorgeous man later. 

Just as he is about to leave for his usual evening inspection, Yennefer enters the tent, Sabrina and Tissaia close at heel. The third sorceress isn't anywhere in sight but that doesn't mean much. The blonde mage carries a silver mirror. Yen's lips are set in a grim line.

"Excuse us coming here on short notice, but there is something I need to show you."

With a snap of her fingers, Sabrina moves around her, standing upright and holding the mirror flat in front of the raven-haired sorceress. Tissaia hands her a small flask, which she opens without any flattery and lets some of its content coat the shiny surface. Chanted words in Elder fall from her tongue, while doing so and the shimmering metal begins to ripple before clearing completely. Once more Jaskier is absolutely wondrous and fascinated by the thousand different ways they could utilise the chaos at hand. The mirror clouds over, turning dark before settling on a picture of the sea. Focusing more clearly on the details, he can make out a whole group of ships gliding over the waves.

"Skellige has sent a fleet of fifty war ships armed with men towards Cintran grounds. Our estimation is that they hold another two thousand five hundred to three thousand soldiers. They may not reach our own numbers by far, still they could pose a threat for our own."

Lilac eyes meet with his blue and he understands. He knows, what she offers without voicing it out loud. Jaskier sighs but nods anyway. He hates excessive violence but these ships are aiding their enemy.

"Sink them."

Yennefer obliges and chants once more, different words in the old language, the other two mages joining in. Before his eyes the formerly quiet sea suddenly turns into a dark ravenous beast, high waves crashing upon the ships, knocking some over with ease. Their formation scatters as the vessels knock into each other, in an attempt to dodge. Violent winds unleash their fury, breaking masts and tearing men from the ships, sending them to drown. Not long and only shattered remains of the fleet are left. He chases the mirage away with a flick of his hand, spilling the liquid on top.

"That's enough."

Yennefer musters him with a pensive look, that he tries to avoid.

"I know, this was never what you wanted. But there will be a battle. There will be casualties. You should be ready to face them. Sacrifices on both sides are to be expected."

He knows that. Still it's hard. He thanks the mages for their services and asks them to retire for tonight, restoring their powers with plenty food and drink. Geralt steps to his side, having watched the previous proceedings in silence. He pulls the younger man into a hug, holding him close.

"I'm sorry."

He doesn't have to be. The Witcher has done nothing wrong. But it feels good to be held and he closes his eyes to enjoy this sweet gesture just a bit longer, before the inevitable bloodshed will begin.

+++

They cross the Ammell Mountains by late morning. The Cintran forces are already waiting for them at the mountains foot. They don't even cover a full third of their strength. Still they charge without hesitation, fighting fierce, going down in brave battle.

Nilfgaardian forces easily swallow their rows. The battle rages with the both royal lines battling in their midst. While the lioness and the sea hound try to fend off more people coming at them, Jaskier takes care of protecting the Witcher, who slices his way through the enemy's men. It's a beautiful dance of death, his unnatural grace and massive strength too much for his opponents. Armed with a heavy bow, Jaskier kills those, who try to charge him from the back or other blind spots, while dodging some attacks as well. A dagger has left a long slice on his arm and it stings, but he had cut the man down without remorse and returned to his task at hand. At the flanks Yennefer and the other mages handle the cavalry forces, breaking open the grounds below them, so their horses fall and bury their riders under massive bodies. There are explosions, flames, shouting everywhere. It's a chaotic mess and it's easy to lose coordination.

The brunette dashes up a hill, trying to get the higher grounds to have a better overview. Ducking under an assault with an axe, he pierces through the Cintran's body with his own sword, letting it go as the soldier slumps forward, further following his way to the hilltop. He takes a moment just to breath and observe the field around him. They're winning, Cintra losing more and more soldiers by minute. Silver armours are swallowed by the mass of their black.

Within the chaos his eyes settle on Calanthe, who fights relentlessly. She's exhausted, it shows, but her iron will and her rage keep her going. Taking another deep breath, the brunette cocks an arrow, aiming at her head. She is facing towards him, helmet open. It would be easily to kill her off like that. But that's not what he wants though. His eyes wander further, settling on the man fighting by her side. Eist Tuirseach is a good man. He always appreciated his humor in the few times they met in foreign courts. Geralt told him about his interference at the banquet in Cintra, that he came to the Witcher's aid.

Still he is what Calanthe loves most, maybe aside of the granddaughter she is unwilling to surrender to destiny. 

Jaskier aims for his head, a clear shot through the eye. It would be over soon, he wouldn't have to suffer. An idea comes his mind instead and with a low hum, he lowers his bow, exchanging the arrow. The new one leaves the string without much noise, after he trains it on the target he wants and pierces the metal with great force, hitting right through the chest piece into the man's heart. The despaired wail of the lioness rips through the noise of battle, the clangs of blades, as she witnesses her husband drop to the ground. She's fighting her way through to his side, cradling his body with another scream of his name. Jaskier watches as she slowly turns towards him and their eyes meet. Calanthe shakes with fury, hate and grief.

Finally she endures the pain she creates in others.

+++

After this the Cintran forces are quick to retreat, hoping for shelter in their capital. Jaskier makes his way over the battlefield, checking on his men, before ordering for Chireadan to come to his side immediately. In their hasty escape, all enemy bodies were left behind, including the one of their king. He arrives at Eist's side, kneeling down, two fingers pressed against his throat. There it is. A pulse, unnaturally slow and very faint, but noticeable. The sea hound of Skellige is still alive.

He always knew: those arrows dipped in poison would do him a favour one day. It wasn't exactly lethal, therefore making them useless to secure a kill, but released into a vital vein, the poison quickly traveled the body and gave it the appearance of death, slowing down the heart beat, pulse and breathing. It was a perfect rouse for the queen to leave the body behind.

The elven healer runs to his side, stumbling over some remnants on the ground, instantly checking him for injuries and wants to treat the cut on his arm. With subtle insistence he stops him in his attempts.

"Thank you for your worry Chireadan, but I'm fine, this is nothing but a scratch. Please attend to this man instead. Make sure he survives and once he's better, leave him in custody of our troops."

The other is irritated by his order but nods, going to work right away. The brunette is relieved to reunite with his Witcher and mage next, both mostly unharmed but dirtied and somewhat exhausted. He receives a slap on the arm as punishment for his slack in treating his own wound.

"Ouch! Yennefer I'm wounded - both physically and emotionally by your horrendous attack!"

Purple eyes roll so hard, he can almost hear them grate. The white-haired man sides with her, the little traitor, so he has to sit down and let him care for the wound at least. They cannot rest for long. If they do not give chase soon, Calanthe might be able to escape.

Their next target is close at hand. Taking Cintra's capital before the next day.

+++

It's already dawn when they close in on the capital. Half of his troops have been sent ahead, to take care of the remaining soldiers. His orders have been clear: Get rid of those fighting, the soldiers, knights and guards. Leave the civilians unharmed, no matter what. He wouldn't stand for slaughter nor would his Empire. Disobedience would result in harsh punishment or even death.

Masses of refugees leaving the city litter the roads, running for the hills screaming when they catch a glimpse of black armour. Nobody dares to oppose them and with the speed of their attack, no other Northern forces are here to interfere. Yennefer, Geralt and him arrive at the outskirts of the town by horse instead of using a portal, to save their own energy. It's yet unclear how much they still have to fight and they'd rather be safe than sorry. Flames are licking on several buildings and the castle grounds, masking the sky in a massive dark cloud of smoke and ash. They will have to extinguish the fires soon, to avoid more damage to the city itself. 

Their soldiers did a decent job and no men holding a weapon hinder their way. The castle has already been stormed, the gates wide open when they ride into the yard. The brunette unmounts his horse with a huff.

"Looks like there's not much left to do for us here."

Still his eyes roam every corner. Knowing his own place grounds by heart, full of hidden nooks and crannies, he wouldn't be surprised if someone tries to sneak out right in front of their nose.

A pair of men he recognizes from his guard, approach their figures quickly, dragging over a man in their wake.

"Your Highness, we found this man in the tunnels. He seems to be capable of magic."

The prisoner is shoved at his feet. His clothes are of fine quality, his hair and beard a bit wild but otherwise kept in shape. Light eyes flickering over his face, speak of intellect. But Cintra has no mage, suspicious of their crafts and intents. 

Just now he notices the stranger is not directly looking at him, but over his shoulder, at the man behind him.

"Geralt?"

"Hello Mousesack."

Of course, the druid. Geralt mentioned his name in the tale of the banquet as well. Funny, seeing a country avoiding mages like the plague, settling for a druid instead. Which also handled magic. Still Nilfgaard never had the chance to have one at their own court. He'd been an interesting man to study.

"Well Mousesack, I'm the Emperor of Nilfgaard but you may call me Jaskier. As much as I'm enthusiastic to meet you, being an old friend of my Witcher and all, I fear we have other matters to attend to first, before we can properly-"

A loud thump startles them, his gaze instantly drawn to what seems to have fallen out of the sky, now lying on the ground a few meters away. He signs all others to stop and the guards take hold of the druid once more, while Geralt waits for his allowance to use the sword he has drawn on instinct. Edging closer to the heap of something on the ground, he realizes it's a body. Looking up, the highest windows of the tower are tumbling against the walls, caught in the fleeting winds. Considering the golden and blue colours of the attire on the body, this can only be a single person. Stopping by its side, he shoves the tip of his boot under the chest for leverage and flips the body around.

Calanthe.

Queen Calanthe, fallen from grace, decided to rather kill herself than to atone for her crimes after being imprisoned by her enemies. Too bad for her that destiny is a bitch, especially towards those, who try to defy her. Multiple times. So there lies the proud queen, her body twisted and mangled, broken beyond repair. But she is still alive. Chest wheezing with each of her shallow breaths.

A cruel smile appears on his face. This will be fun. He may not sink that low, to kick a person lying in the ground - because that would mean lowering himself to her level - but there's still something he can do.

So he crouches down besides the queen, stepping on one of her hands in the process and snapping bones with a crunch, before tilting her face towards him. Her lips open in a silent gasp but her body is beyond words. Her eyes are filled with grief and rage, she cannot act on anymore. She can only endure him until she dies and oh - as a former bard, he knows how to rile people up.

Everyone else is well out of earshot, even Geralt with his enhanced hearing. So he smiles even more and talks.

"Fancy meeting you again, Calanthe. Who would have thought you'd rather take the easy way out of this? Like a coward running from what he has done? Or she in that matter."

He wets his lips, then resumes,

"You know, I have miraculously found your husband still alive. Weak but alive. Do you know what I will do to him now, that you chose to ruin my chance for revenge?"

Her eyes widen in response, unveiled fear clouding them.

"I will take him apart, piece by piece. I will cut him up, make him scream until he's hoarse and then some more. I will break every bone inside his body, over and over again, until he forgets his own name from the overwhelming pain. And yours as well."

Calanthe's lips move, trying to say something, anything but nothing comes out.

"Oh, no objections? Good because then, when he is nearly mad with pain and grief, starved and beaten again, I will set him free for your little darling granddaughter to hunt him down."

Ah, something flares inside the broken body upon mentioning her. A gurgle leaves Calanthe's throat, her body trembling in effort.

"Yes, I will take good care and give her to my Witcher to train her, hard. Grinding all the kindness out of her little heart, until there's nothing left besides the urge to fight and kill in the name of our glorious Empire. And that's all your fault, Calanthe. You could have spared them so much, just by surrendering yourself to my hands. But it's too late now, you sealed your fate and theirs as well."

The woman's eyes swim with tears that spill over her cheeks. She's growing weaker quickly, he has to get this done with. He huffs, amused.

"And you know what? I'm just kidding. I won't do that," 

leaning closer, he takes her chin in hand, squeezing it,

"But you won't be around to witness anything, that will happen instead, anymore. I won't say farewell, you don't deserve that. May your soul rot in the pits of hell, never to be reborn again, for what you have done to Filavandrel and his kin."

Jaskier forces her face upright again, looking with empty eyes at the gray sky. Just a few second later, the breathing recedes.

The queen is dead.

+++

Rising to his feet again, his face is calm as he returns under the awaiting gazes of the Witcher, the sorceress and the druid held by his guards.

"The queen is dead. She chose to end her life by suicide, instead to stand for what she's done."

Mousesack sacks in the grip of his men, definitely holding back words, that would just bring harm to him. He's clever, Jaskier has to give him that. Cleverer than some he has met.

What is left now is to find the princess, his Witcher's child surprise. If she hasn't left the castle grounds by now, she is probably somewhere nearby.

The druid has fallen quiet now, nearly rigid, like he doesn't dare to take another breath. He's fixated on a door that seems to lead towards the stables and-

The stables. He yelps.

"Geralt!"

The door to said stables flies open in a whirl of movement and a white horse dashes over the yard. Using his Witcher reflexes, Geralt is quick to follow and with a well-placed sign of Aard, he makes the larger rider slip off the horse's back, dragging a second one with him. They fall with a high screech. One of them is definitely a girl.

The Witcher crosses the distance, stopping some yards away from the humans fallen to the ground, eyes transfixed on the blonde girl looking back at him. The man at her side seems to be unconscious, maybe he hit his head too hard. The girl rises to her feet, taking in white-haired man's form. She's cautious but not afraid. Strong in both soul and mind for her age.

Then, like something pulls them together, they're holding each other in their arms, hugging tight. The child surprise and the Witcher, united at last. That something has to be destiny, Jaskier is sure. She has done him a second favour tonight and he's grateful for that.

Because that means the war is over. They can go home soon.

+++

With the sun rising in the next morning, he establishes a proper meeting with Eist, Jarl of Skellige and King of Cintra.

Just like he saved Geralt and claimed his life debt from him, he planned this one out, carefully.

Eist is to officially surrender Cintra to Nilfgaardian rule, making it one of their provinces. With his reign over and his queen's death by her own hands, he will return back to Skellige, vowing never to let the kingdom or himself himself be turned against them. Also he will make public what Calanthe has done in her hatred - the slaughter of innocent refugees and unsuspecting diplomats, used for an act of propaganda to have them call to war. He is to unveil everything - every provocation, every insult.

Begrudgingly the man accepts. He's loyal to the fault towards tradition, so he is neither fighting the life debt nor Geralt's claim on Ciri. Eist had known for long, that the girl belongs to him. He wouldn't battle destiny, not after what it cost him to do so once.

He's allowed to say goodbye to his grandchild and he hugs her close while doing so. Wishing her the best, he turns to Geralt.

"You better make sure she's safe, Witcher. Or I will personally come for you."

The man leaves without another word, leaving the country and his life behind. He's broken, he lost what he loved the most and never returns.

Jaskier sometimes thinks of him, mainly during a feast, he knows the man enjoyed so much and wonders, what he might be up to. If he's still alive at all.

+++

With Cintra under their reign, Jaskier proposes a new peace treaty to the remaining Northern Kingdoms. In exchange for ensuring their safety from any of his claims, they'll step back from any actions against them, that could be considered harmful.

With no mages left and two more allied force gone from their ranks, the North accepts his offer with gritted teeth. Especially with the public eye trained on the crimes Cintra has committed under their approval, they barely have any other choice left. They cannot risk a war.

The contract is signed in an official ceremony, during which Geralt and Yennefer never leave his side for a single second. Both of them are overly eager to make sure none of the lords or ladies can act out of line or even pose a threat to their treasured Emperor.

Jaskier laughs at their protective behaviour. He rewards them both with a kiss, once they return home.

+++

With peace secured, it's time to find a proper ruler for Cintra. Someone loyal and strong, witty and sharp, just and-

"Forget it."

He stops in his tracks, blinking owlishly.

"Excuse me, what?"

"I said forget it. I'm not going to be Queen of Cintra."

Oh, so she did read his mind from time to time.

Yennefer crosses her arms in front of her chest, resolute in her decision.

"I have not worked my ass off for years to be caged into some of this ruling nonsense now. Filling the spot while you bugger off on some adventures is one thing. But having to deal with this permanently? No, thank you. I rather enjoy my position here as the head mage and let's be honest - the Witcher and you wouldn't survive a day without me."

Jaskier opens his mouth to object, then closes it again. The sorceress got a point.

Still he is left with no solution, how to fill the void in Cintra's court. Sitting down on a window sill close to him, his gaze strays outside.

Geralt and Ciri are training in the yard, repeating the sword fighting stances, she is eager learn. The girl is bright and clever, strong-willed like a wall and brave at that. She still shies away from him, always watching his moves with caution. Even knowing what her grandmother did, she still loved her and might blame him for her fall. Jaskier doesn't mind right now, some wounds just take time to heal. They make small progresses, step by step. He caught her listening to him playing the lute and singing for his Witcher more than once. Maybe someday they can even be friends. Maybe one day she could be his successor.

Mousesack is with them, watching over the princesses well-being like he did for so long. It would be wise to send him back to Cintra, once the Emperor finds a proper candidate to rule. With his experience and knowledge of having served the kingdom for decades, he will prove a valuable asset.

Leaning his forehead against the cool glass, he enjoys the warm rays of sunshine tickling his skin.

He will surely find someone fitting for the position. With time.

+++

Just as he promised, he finds a place for the Manticore Witchers to stay.

It's a rather small town, near a river. Quiet, rural and almost boring, with not many people around to bother them. They settle in surprisingly well and soon he cannot tell them apart from the village people, that have been living here for decades.

The brunette Witcher, Merten, claps a hand on his shoulder, lightly squeezing it in silent thanks. He returns it with a nod, watching with a pleasant grin, how a group of children hassle the burly men to tell them all of their stories.

Over the course of the weeks and months after Cintra's fall, slowly more Witchers are seeking refugee in his kingdom. There are bears, a few cranes, a viper and some griffins, that survived the attack on their school by hiding in the underground until now. They all seek the same - a place, where they are no outcasts, no target for other people's hate. Contracts have been growing more sparse by the years, with them decimating their own prey by doing their job, while the monster found less space to live in, the humans taking up more and more. They long for safety and some rest for a change.

Jaskier is happy to provide that.

Still, there are no wolves coming here until now. The bard knows Geralt misses his fellow Witchers, residing high up in the North during winter, in the fortress of Kaer Morhen. Jaskier would like to meet them too. Maybe one day they could travel there together, just the Witcher and his bard on an adventure once more.

Suddenly this day doesn't seem too far away anymore. Now there's only one single thing left to do.

+++

Blaviken really is the grimy backwater shithole he expected it to be. Ironic how such a small, boring place of nothing had brought so much harm to his Witcher. Soon it will matter no more. He will see to that.

The air is heavy with the stench of magical flame accelerant. Yennefer steps towards him, a blazing torch in hand.

"I will grant you the pleasure of the first fire, your Highness."

She makes a regal face that makes him snort but he takes the torch nonetheless. All buildings are empty now, their inhabitants moved elsewhere. It was a tiny part of the peace contract he insisted on and in the end Redania relented.

"I feel honoured, my dear sorceress. Maybe the purging begin."

With the help of a little chaos, the small town is a blazing heap of flames within minutes. They watch it together from a near hill, enjoying the sight of the place vanishing from existence.

The 'Butcher of Blaviken' is never more. There is only the 'White Wolf of Nilfgaard' left in his stead.

The magician's tower stays stubbornly sturdy within the fire. Jaskier doesn't spare a single glance to his companion, just muttering,

"Do it."

A few words in Elder shake the building at its core and with a satisfying crack the walls break, the tower crumbling into itself.

They're done here.

"Let's return to the palace or else we will miss the celebration."

Leaving through a portal at once, past burdens are gone with them. It feels good, frees him from a pressure residing on his soul for too long. Jaskier can't wait to see Geralt again.

+++

The celebration of their achieved peace lasts almost a full week. As so often, all streets are filled with merriness, laughter, dance, good food and plenty of alcohol.

It all begins with Jaskier and Yennefer stepping out of a portal, towards the balcony attached to the throne room. Geralt and Cirilla are already waiting for them there, both wearing their formal black attires.

The Witcher looks at him funny, frowning when he steps closer.

"You smell strange."

He waves it off with a bright grin.

"Promise I will tell you later - now they are waiting."

And they are. The folk has once more assembled under the balcony, voices gaining volume as they see their ruler stepping close to the rails. 

Petals fall from the sky, seemingly by magic alone. Yennefer's pleased expression is all he needs to know.

Raising his hand in greeting, the crowd responds in a loud, steady chant of his name.

_ Jaskier! Jaskier! Jaskier! Jaskier! _

It touches his heart and ignites his soul. Tears of happiness well up in his eyes. Of those he's not even ashamed. Quieting down the crowd to a mumble he proclaims,

"The Great Sun has blessed us with many gifts. With peace, health, a good life and destiny on our side. As of today I vow to keep it that way, as long I still breath, to ensure the happiness of my beloved people."

Jaskier blinks, trying his best not to let his throat constrict with emotion.

"I am more than grateful, with what I was bestowed. So now, it is time to acknowledge all of that properly - and celebrate!"

The answer is a roar of approval and he laughs, loud and free for the first time since he was but an innocent child. He is far from innocent now but something else instead. With his lover at his side and a family to protect.

_ Truly happy _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it. The end of the story :)
> 
> Thanks to all your support you showed towards this quick idea of mine. Your comments and bookmark remarks always brighten my day, just as all the kudos left.
> 
> Anyone please feel free to write additional snippets to this 😂 or make art and tag me in it. I'd love to read them or support by sharing it!
> 
> Also feel free to leave some ideas or prompts for stories you'd like to read. I got a few in mind myself but I'm always open for new things ♡
> 
> Stay safe and awesome guys!
> 
> Update: the amazing Junday made some fanart for this story and I couldn't be happier 😍 pls check it out in the link below!
> 
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CAGHYkvqRI-/?igshid=5fhfiu3r0pu7

**Author's Note:**

> There's a second part coming :3 with Geralt stepping into the mix.
> 
> Any head canons or prompts you'd like to see?


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